Who Run The World?
by JOfHearts
Summary: Girls! A series of one-shots where the central character of each story is a woman. All sorts of characters, pairings, and AUs will be featured. Feedback is appreciated, requests are welcome.
1. Rotten (FemAmericaxFemJapan)

**Who Run The World?**

**Fem!America/Fem!Japan: Rotten**

"So, I ran into Hungary at the last world meeting."

Japan glanced up at America when she didn't continue. The two were sat at America's kitchen table, painting their nails as part of their sleepover ritual. Japan had gone for a cute, flattering pink crème color, while America had a different color for each nail as well as a top coat of holographic glitter planned for her manicure. When it became obvious that America was waiting for her to prompt her to continue with her story, Japan said, "oh?" though she wondered, as she always did, why America didn't just forge ahead without encouragement. It seemed that would be something more in line with the girl's personality, though she supposed it was bad to make assumptions.

America nodded, the messy bun of hair she'd piled atop her head bouncing with the movement. "Yeah, I saw her taking pictures of Sweden and Finland hanging out from around a corner and I was all 'hey? Whatcha doin?' and she was all 'yaoi!' and I was all 'what's that?' and she was all 'ask Japan!'" as she spoke, she gestured with her hands, something Japan was familiar with from her time with Italy and had come to get used to during her friendship with America. However, the addition of a wet nail polish brush in one of those waving hands made her lean back cautiously, hoping to avoid getting a streak of metallic blue across her forehead.

Japan covered a small, amused smile with her hand at America's retelling of her conversation. America could be too much at times, but every now and then, Japan found her energy cute. Like now for instance, as she sat at her kitchen table in an oversize sleeping shirt, her bun bouncing with her animated movements, nails shining with multi-colored, still-wet polish, her blue eyes shining brightly behind lopsided glasses as she spoke, she was the picture of adorable to the older nation.

"Yaoi is a sub-genre of fiction, mostly popular among women, in my country," Japan explained to America, "it focuses on the relationship between two men. I've recently discovered that Hungary-san has an interest in yaoi, too, and we discuss it from time to time."

"Oh cool, so it's like slash, then," America mused, drawing a comparison with a term she was familiar with. She took the time to paint another nail before looking back to Japan, "so you're into this stuff, too?"

"I suppose so," Japan dipped her head down as she suddenly became very focused on her nail painting, her dark hair shifting to form a curtain to hide her blushing face. She was trying to keep herself from getting overly excited about the subject they were talking about. If she wasn't careful, her enthusiasm would get away from her, and she could only imagine how embarrassing that would be. "I've drawn some doujinshi-"

"Doujinshi?" America asked.

Used to America's interruptions, Japan took it in stride, "self-made creative works related to a particular interest." It was the simplest way she could explain it.

"I get it," America nodded in understanding. She then grinned at her friend, leaning forward in her chair, "so then you're _super_ into it! That's really cool, I've done stuff like that too before, fics and fanzines and stuff."

Japan offered a small smile, pleased to know that they now had another common or at least equivalent interest to talk about. The two of them paused in their conversation as they painted more nails. Japan finished her last nail and returned her brush back into its bottle. America was obviously losing interest in her manicure, too distracted by their conversation, and was painting her remaining nails with more speed and less care than when she had started.

"So then Hungary was taking pictures of Sweden and Finland because she was, like, _down_ for it, right?" America asked curiously.

Japan tilted her head, "if by 'down' you mean interested in their romantic relationship, then yes, I believe so." She made a mental note to ask Hungary about the pictures she took the next time they spoke to one another.

The blonde giggled, "well I gotta admit, I ship it, too." She haphazardly finished off her last nail and put her polish away, putting all of her attention on Japan.

A mischievous smile came across her face, "hey hey, so do _you_ have a ship among the nations?"

Another blush came to Japan's cheeks as she grew flustered. Many, many images of the male nations they knew in romantic scenarios of varying… appropriateness were currently flashing across her mind. "I-I… don't think it's… p-proper to be speaking about our colleagues in such a way-"

"Come onnnn, Sakura!" America reached over, nudging her friend's shoulder with the palm of her hand. Japan was surprised that the younger nation was being careful to keep her wet nails away from her touching her, though she could do without the physical contact as well. "What's your world OTP? Your _World_-TP?"

It didn't take long for Japan to cave, especially under America's insistent puppy-eyed gaze. She ducked her head down, "I would have to say… Italy and Germany," she admitted quietly, as though her friends would hear her all the way from Europe if she spoke any louder. She had long ago found that the two men would make an attractive pair, and the idea of a small, enthusiastic seme with a tall, more serious uke very much appealed to her, though she wasn't going to bring up that out loud with another person present any time soon.

"Oh my gaawwd, yes!" America nodded with a happy little squeal, "those guys are _so_ cute together!" She sat back, thinking for a moment, and then looked back up, suddenly going in a different direction, "hey, so what's femslash- girl on girl stuff- called?"

"Yuri," Japan replied, glad that America wasn't trying to get her to discuss her 'OTP' further.

"Cool, cool," another mischievous grin, "do you ship any girl nations, then?" She suddenly gasped excitedly, leaning in with an eager glint in her eyes, "do you ship _me_ with anyone?"

Japan averted her gaze.

"Oh my god, you do, don't you?"

"I won't say."

"Sakuraaaa..."

"No. I refuse."

_**A/N: So that's the first one. The title of this chapter refers to the fact that the Japanese term for female yaoi fans basically translates as "rotten woman/girl." I imagine this chapter taking place in the early 2010s, a lot of the fandom terminology used is pretty outdated from what I can gather.**_

_**The title of this series in general is taken from the Beyonce song "Run the World (Girls)." The chapters will all be self contained unless noted otherwise and some will feature female nations from the standard universe and even a mix of standard and Nyotalia characters (though the Nyotalia characters will probably be mostly based on my own concepts than the actual designs). Male characters will feature as well, but the central character will always be female. All sorts of pairings and pairing types (gay, het, polyamory, etc) as well as different AUs are likely to feature as well, but who and what comes up is of course going to be dependent on my personal interests and favorites.**_

_**As for requests, I'd say that you're more than welcome to make suggestions, but I can't guarantee that I'll write them all. I will try to write them if I can and if the idea gels with me, and I'll be sure to give you credit for the idea if I do follow through with it.**_

_**I thank anyone who decides to join me on this journey and reviews are always appreciated.**_

_**Take care,**_

_**J**_


	2. Full of Love (FemItalyxGermany)

**Who Run The World?**

**Fem!Italy/Germany: Full of Love**

Germany swallowed nervously, staring at the absolutely _massive_ plate of pasta Italy had just set before him with disbelief.

When he accepted his lover's invitation for dinner, he didn't know that he would be expected to eat enough food to feed a family. Italy had her own, still large but definitely more reasonable portion, so he had no idea what she was thinking when she plated his. Surely she didn't think he could eat all of this in one sitting?

"Felicia," he looked over at the woman, who was already starting in on her own meal with a blissful smile. He had yet to even pick up his fork, afraid to commit to something he wasn't sure he could see through to the end.

"Yes, Ludwig?" she looked over at him with those pretty amber eyes of hers, thick lashes fluttering in a way that still made his stomach do flips. He could already feel his resolve crumble and he hadn't even said anything. Her lips formed into a pout when she noticed he wasn't eating, "ve, what's wrong? Do you not like it?"

"No!" he rushed to assure her, then cleared his throat, trying again in a more subdued manner. "No, it's nothing like that, but Felicia… I can't eat all of this."

"Huh?" she blinked in confusion. Then she laughed, reaching over and patting his arm, "of course you can, silly! Don't be shy!"

His frown deepened. He didn't think she fully understood just how much food he could eat, "nein, it's way too much food for me."

"Ve, but Luddy, you're so skinny!" her hand drifted up to gently pinch at his cheek, as if she found it to show evidence of him being underfed. "What you need is a nice, big meal! Now eat!" She caressed his face lovingly, her expression warm with affection.

His face heated up at her touch, but he tried to stay strong even as she pushed. The mountain of pasta was still very intimidating to him, after all.

Just as Germany began to argue again, Italy cut him off. "Now, now," she waved dismissively, then she reached over and picked up his fork, twirling up some pasta onto it. She offered it up to him, smile as sweet as can be, "be good and say ahhh~!"

Prussia often liked to joke that the small Italian woman had Germany wrapped around her little finger, but as he opened his mouth to accept the bite of food without a second of hesitation, he found himself thinking that there was probably more than a bit of truth to that. At least he had enough self respect to refrain from saying "ahh." He chewed, his ears turning red with embarrassment at what he'd just done, and swallowed. "It's very good," he complimented truthfully, not that anything Italy cooked had a chance of tasting bad.

"Hee," she beamed, placing the fork in his hand, "ve, now eat up!"

Under her expectant gaze, he found himself digging into his food diligently, and Italy only returned to her own food when she was certain he was making progress. She cooed her delight to him that he was eating her cooking, encouraging him to eat more and more. At a certain point, Germany resigned himself to the fact that he was actually going to eat the whole plate to make Italy happy, even though he knew he was going to regret it later.

By the time he finished the last bite, he was certain he had never felt more full in his entire existence. At least it was over now, he thought as he sat back in his chair, trying not to let on to how uncomfortable he felt.

Italy stood, collecting their plates. She leaned down and placed a kiss on his cheek, and the happiness that shone from her face as she took the dishes to the kitchen made him feel as though his temporary discomfort was more than worth it.

That is, until she returned with dessert.

_**A/N: I'm Filipina, and I once had a conversation with an Italian friend about how the women of our families had the same habit of overloading a guest's plate with food when they came over for dinner. Not to mention seconds, if they weren't careful. And snacks throughout their stay. And then containers of the leftovers as they were heading out. Honestly I had too much fun growing up watching my friends grow pale with horror when I teasingly told them that they couldn't leave the table until all the food had been eaten.**_

_**Feedback is much appreciated!**_

_**Take care,**_

_**J**_


	3. We're Your Girls (FemCanada and Others)

**Who Run The World?**

**Fem!Canada: We're Your Girls**

She was so dumb.

When Madeline's crush had asked her to the Homecoming dance, she'd been so excited. It wasn't often that shy "Mumbling Maddie" got attention from boys, especially when compared to her more outgoing sister, Amelia. To have her biggest crush since middle school ask her to be his date was like a dream for her.

She'd never been asked out to anything before, and she put a lot of effort into getting ready for the dance. She got herself a red dress, a modest one compared to what a lot of the girls, including her sister and friends, were wearing but still bold for herself. She had her older cousin Francine help her with her hair and makeup and borrowed a pair of very intimidating high heels from Amelia. When she met up with her date outside the school and saw the way he looked at her, with interest and attraction, she felt...good. Pretty. Special.

She felt _seen_.

But it didn't last.

About half an hour into the dance, she stepped away from her date for a while. The rest of Madeline's friends that said they were going to attend the dance finally showed up, and they all wanted to take pictures together in their outfits. After several minutes of them shuffling around to make sure they took a picture in every pose and from every angle possible, she finally managed to break away from them and go looking for her date in the crowded school gym.

She found him talking to his friends. About _her_.

That was when Madeline learned the awful truth. Her invitation to the dance had been a big awful joke at her expense. A bet between cruel schoolboys to see if one of them could get the school wallflower into bed.

She was crushed.

He hadn't even noticed that she was there listening to them laugh and speculate about her in such demeaning ways. None of them, even the boys facing in her direction, seemed to see her. Not that that was new to Madeline. While at any other time she would have resented it, right then, with big fat tears dripping from her violet eyes, she was grateful for her invisibility. She turned and made her escape, stumbling her way towards the gym's exit in Amelia's stupid borrowed heels.

Half blinded by the tears still streaming from her eyes and pooling in the lenses of her glasses, she bumped into a taller figure on her way out.

"Watch it, Jones! You- wait, Maddie?"

Madeline didn't need to see to recognize the voice of Carmina, her Cuban friend. She mumbled a rushed "sorry" and stepped around her, fleeing further into the school.

That's how Madeline found herself in a bathroom in the school's Social Studies corridor, locked in a grimy, graffiti-covered stall, sitting on the toilet and crying her eyes out.

She felt humiliated, and stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Why had she been dumb enough to think that anyone would be interested unless it was for something like _that_. The only time anyone looked her way was when they wanted to use her, make her some sort of trophy, a challenge for locker room bragging rights.

When her sobs had died down and what had once been a waterfall of tears had slowed to a leaking faucet, Madeline pitifully wiped at her eyes, not caring about jostling her glasses, and whimpered miserably when her hands came away smeared with her eye makeup. She probably looked awful right now, but had she even looked good to begin with? Her thoughts and self-esteem drooped lower and lower with every passing second.

"Maddie?"

A hesitant knock came from the other side of the stall door. The voice belonged to her sister.

Madeline felt panic and even more embarrassment rise up in her. She didn't want anyone to see her like this. The Social Studies corridor was pretty far from the school's gym, she figured she'd be safe from anyone happening upon her, especially someone she knew.

"G-go away," she said, her voice trembling much like the rest of her.

"Madeline," it seemed that Francine was in the bathroom as well. The older girl's melodic, accented voice called out to her gently, "You have friends out here that are worried about you. Won't you come out and tell us what's wrong?"

Madeline sniffled, looking up through her messy glasses. She could see through the gap in the stall door Amelia's blue eye gazing back at her with concern. She knew now that she'd been discovered she'd have to come out eventually, and there was no point in delaying the inevitable. Taking a moment to wipe her eyes once more, she stood on her shaking legs and unlocked the stall door.

She stepped out into Amelia and Francine's waiting arms. As the two fussed over her, Amelia asking her what was wrong and Francine stroking her hair and cooing comforting words of French to her, Madeline looked around, surprised to see that there were even more people in the bathroom with them.

Carmina was there along with some of Madeline's other friends. Maria and Katyusha were there, too, looking very worried about her.

Madeline felt her lip tremble, "you w-were all looking for m-me?" she asked, her voice small.

"Carmina saw you looking upset and called in the cavalry," Amelia gave her a little grin and Madeline realized that the two girls had put their legendary animosity towards each other aside for her sake.

"You think we would let our amiga cry in the bathroom alone at Homecoming?" Carmina joked, coming closer and patting Madeline's head in the fond way she often did.

"That would've been hella unawesome of us," commented Maria as she ripped an excessive amount of paper towels from a nearby dispenser and passed them to Madeline through the wall of people comforting her. Madeline accepted them gratefully, wiping her face and blowing her nose as gracefully as she could manage.

"Come now, everyone," Katyusha said with her gentle, motherly tone, coming forward to drape the shawl she'd worn with her dress over Madeline's shoulders, "I think we are crowding her."

The girls backed away a bit, but Amelia and Francine remained as close as they felt they could.

"What happened, Maddie?" Amelia asked again. "Did someone hurt you? Was it your date?"

That brought on a new wave of tears for Madeline, and she could vaguely hear the others scolding Amelia for setting her off again as she sheepishly apologized. Katyusha rubbed her back and Maria went to retrieve more paper towels.

As she cried, she shakily told them what she'd overheard. She missed the completely murderous looks Amelia, Carmina, and Maria exchanged over her head.

"I'm s-so stupid," Madeline cried when she finished, wiping her eyes and only half remembering to use a paper towel. "I...I should have known..."

"Oh ma chere, that's not true at all," Francine said with a shake of her head. She frowned as she ran her fingers carefully through Madeline's hair. "You're not stupid and you're most definitely not at fault."

"Yeah, it's his fault he's an ass," Maria said, her pale face flushed with anger as the others voiced their agreement.

"You're the coolest, Maddie," Amelia told her firmly, "a guy like that has no right to make you feel like this."

"She's right, for once," Carmina smirked, rubbing Madeline's arm. Amelia didn't even retort. "Don't let the dickhead get to you, okay?"

Madeline smiled weakly, it was small, but it was real, much to the relief of the others. "Thanks, guys," she took a couple of deep breaths, wiping her face again. Her crying had mostly stopped, though her eyes remained watery. She bit her lip as she looked at them all, her friends and family that had dropped everything to come looking for her when they thought she needed them. She almost started crying just from that thought, but she managed to hold it in. "I'm sorry I worried you all..."

"You have nothing to apologize for," Katyusha gave her a sweet smile.

"Don't worry 'bout a thing, Maddie," Amelia nudged her playfully.

Carmina smiled, glancing around, "you know, as much as I love hanging out in this shitty bathroom-" the others laughed, "-why don't we get out of here?"

Madeline glanced at her reflection in the mirror, cringing at what she saw, "how about you guys go back to the dance?" she wasn't going back there. Not only was her Homecoming look ruined, but she really didn't want to risk running into her date again. That didn't mean her friends had to miss out on it, though. "I'll just call Dad for a ride-"

"Madeline Jones-Williams, if you think for a single second we're leaving you by yourself, you're crazy," Carmina smirked, linking arms with her as though she was trying to trap her.

"Yeah," said Amelia nonchalantly, "the dance was super lame, anyway."

"I mean, they didn't crown the awesome _me_ homecoming queen, so what's the point?" Maria shrugged with as straight a face as she could manage. Francine swatted at her arm and she laughed that strange laugh of hers in response.

"Let's get out of here, shall we?" Francine began ushering the group towards the bathroom exit.

"Let's get ice cream!" proposed Carmina.

"Yeah! Ice cream!" cheered Amelia, both fists pumping into the air. Madeline had a feeling the two of them would never speak of how many times they agreed on things that night ever again.

"My van can fit us all," offered Katyusha, "oh, but I will have to check on my siblings first..."

"As long as you don't invite them to come with..." Maria mumbled with a shake of her head, though Katyusha didn't seem to hear.

As Madeline walked out to the school parking lot, surrounded by people who cared about her so much, she couldn't help but think again how lucky she was to have them. It made the pain she'd experienced that night seem so much easier to handle.

She not only felt seen, but loved.

**Bonus Scene**

"Uh guys?" Amelia hung back as the other girls started to get into Katyusha's van.

"What's up?" asked Maria as they all looked to her.

"I um, I kinda forgot a thing. I'll be back! Real quick!" Amelia began to run back towards the school before anyone could say anything.

"Amy-?" Madeline couldn't help but find something very… _off_ about her sister's behavior.

"Keep the car running!" the girl called over her shoulder.

"Idiota..." Carmina rolled her eyes, climbing into the car with the others.

The girls waited about five minutes before they saw Amelia come sprinting back out of the school like the hounds of hell were on her heels. It wasn't that far from the truth, considering their very angry principal was running after her, his face purple.

"Open the door! _Open the door!_" Amelia screeched, running up to the van.

Swearing, Maria pulled open the rear door of the van and let out a squawk when Amelia threw herself inside.

"Kat! For the good of humanity, _DRIVE!_" Amelia commanded from her position across Maria and Francine's laps.

"What is happening!?" Katyusha cried, starting the car and pulling out of her parking spot. She was too panicked by Amelia's panic to try and do anything _but_ get out of there as fast as possible.

Madeline watched with wide eyes as the principal ran towards them. He'd been no match for track star Amelia's speed, even with the addition of Amelia wearing heels, but he was still fast approaching. She looked at her sister, "Amy, _what did you DO!?_"

"JUST GO!"

There was pandemonium in the van as Katyusha drove off just in time, the principal taking a frustrated swing at the tail light that was just out of his reach. They rocketed out of the parking lot, their driver with frightened tears in her eyes.

"Okay, seriously, what the hell was that!" Carmina demanded once they were on the road.

Amelia, who in all of the chaos had rolled onto the floor, just looked up at her with a grin and began giggling hysterically.

"Don't worry about it."

The following school day, Madeline's crush- _ex_ crush- showed up to school with a black eye.

When Amelia was dragged off to the principal's office, they all finally had an idea why.

_**A/N: Friendship between girls and women is so precious and important to me. It's a theme I'll be coming back to a lot over the course of this series.**_

_**The title of this one-shot is from the song "Girl" by Destiny's Child, and I recommend you check it out if you haven't heard it. The story itself is kind of inspired by real life. I have a memory from high school of crying my eyes out in a dirty ass bathroom surrounded by a bunch of concerned friends who did their best to help me feel better. I still really appreciate them being there for me in that moment. **_

_**Also this is completely random, but in public bathrooms in America there's this weirdly large gap between the door of a bathroom stall and the door frame. It's not even hard to see through it and I'm pretty sure the entire country is just on the honor system about it. I just recently found out that this isn't common for bathrooms in other countries and I was surprised by that, but I feel like I shouldn't be? But yeah, I read somewhere that it's like that here because back in the day, security guards would look through the gap to make sure Depravity wasn't happening. So, uh, that's your toilet trivia for the day. I'm sorry I'm so weird.**_

_**As always, feedback is much appreciated. Shout out to SecretDivin for my first review, not only for this story but this account! Thank you!**_

_**Take Care,**_

_**J**_


	4. Yellow (FemAmericaxFemRomano)

**Who Run The World?**

**Fem!Romano/Fem!America: Yellow**

"How the hell am I supposed to find something to watch when her collection is this damn big..." Romano grumbled to herself as she looked through yet another shelf of movies.

Movie nights with America were something that Romano always looked forward to. There was nothing better than curling up on the couch with the younger nation leaning against her, holding her tight, but not too tight, head of golden hair resting against her shoulder as they watched something together. It was always enjoyable to feel the subtle tightening of America's grip when a particularly romantic scene played out on screen, and when the younger nation pressed her face into the crook of her neck when something scary took place, Romano felt brave and strong. Romano couldn't even complain when America laughed or screamed loudly right next to her ear in response to what they were watching. Well, she couldn't complain _too_ much anyway.

America normally chose the movie when they watched at her place, and Romano was surprised at how much the girl's tastes varied, dipping into several genres. Though she did have a soft spot for her blockbusters and teen slashers, America had from time to time chosen more obscure, artistic films for them to watch, and she often had insightful, well put-together thoughts about what they were watching. It was obvious that America really loved the art of film-making in general, and her seemingly endless collection was a testament to that. Romano didn't realize just how endless that selection actually was until that night, when America suggested Romano choose their movie and introduced her to her movie room.

Her movie room was _not_ the room where she watched her movies. No, there was an entirely different room in her house dedicated to that. America's movie room was where America kept her movies. _So many movies._ There were shelves lining every wall, and even more shelves set up into aisles throughout the room. Films in every format from the very earliest to the very latest filled each shelf to capacity and there was no doubt in her mind America had the technology to support all of them. Romano found her head spinning when America commented off-hand that she had even more movie rooms in other houses, each with a different variety to choose from.

To say that Romano was spoiled for choice was an understatement.

It didn't help that there didn't seem to be any discernible system of organization, though America swore up and down that there was a method to all the madness. Romano was left overwhelmed as America left to go make popcorn for their evening viewing.

Romano felt herself grow frustrated, wishing that there was a catalog she could consult as she passed another shelf of random films. It was then that a title caught her attention. Then another title. And another. She approached the shelf in question, her eyes widening as she scanned the movies stored there.

They were all hers.

Italian films. So many of them, mostly horror and thriller, and the very best and most iconic ones she and her sister had to offer, even the obscure gems. Romano could see that they spanned the entire history of Italian cinema. Some of the movies even had a second copy beside them, still in its sales wrapping, a keepsake of sorts.

Romano was surprised, very surprised. Nations were prideful beings, even if they didn't want to admit it. To have a display of open appreciation to another nation's art in one's home was pretty rare, as they were always trying to promote what was theirs as the best of the best. She felt herself getting emotional because of just how touched she was and forced herself to take a couple of deep breaths so she wouldn't start shedding tears over this.

"Did you find something?"

Romano blinked in surprise, looking up to see America looking at her curiously from the door. She found herself unable to respond as the younger nation walked over to look at the shelf she was standing in front of.

America grinned, "oh, did you want to watch one of yours?" her eyes sparkled with excitement at the prospect, "I'm _so_ down to hear what you have to say about them!"

"You have so many of them..." it was all Romano could think to say.

"I saw _The Girl Who Knew Too Much_ back in the day and I've been hooked ever since. Inspo like you wouldn't believe," she said, her tone almost wistful as she admired her own collection, "y'all really know how to make 'em, you know." America turned to her with a grin, "hey, how about-"

Romano cut her off with a kiss, pulling a title down from the shelf at the same time. "This one," she said when she pulled away, holding up a copy of _Deep Red_. It had been a while since she'd seen that particular classic.

America's smile only widened, "sounds great!"

_**A/N: The title comes from the Italian film genre known as Giallo which translates into English as "yellow." It's a specific type of thriller-horror genre with other elements that distinguish it from other films of that nature. The influence of giallo films can be seen in the later American slasher genre. I'm honestly not that much of a film buff, tbh. But I really love horror films, especially stylistic ones, so I'm somewhat familiar with giallo. **_

_**I headcanon Fem!America as being more artistically inclined than Male!America, just maybe not very eloquent about it, thus giving off the impression to others that she's uncultured when she does have educated thoughts.**_

_**Feedback is always appreciated.**_

_**Take Care,**_

_**J**_


	5. Play Date (FemEngland and FemFrance)

**Who Run The World?**

**Fem!England and Fem!France: Play Date**

**Warnings: Implied past domestic violence and implied past child abuse.**

"You'll frighten the children if you watch them like that, you know," Francine joked quietly, taking in her friend's stern gaze with concern disguised as amusement.

Francine and Alice were out on Francine's patio, watching their children play together in the backyard. They each had two children: Francine's charming eight-year-old Francis and gentle five-year-old Madeline, and Alice's studious seven-year-old Arthur and spirited five-year-old Amelia. Amelia and Madeline become fast friends when Alice and her family moved into the house next door two years prior and now the two little girls were inseparable. The same couldn't be said for Francis and Arthur, however, who could only tolerate each other for short amounts of time before a fight would break out. They were better when they had to look after their little sisters, both of which having their older brother wrapped around their little finger, and thus Francine and Alice often asked the boys to watch over the girls while they were playing. Francine thought that spending time together would eventually lead to Francis and Arthur becoming friends, while Alice merely thought it would be good character building for them to learn to get along with those they didn't like.

The children were currently playing a game of make-believe, led by precocious Amelia. Francine wasn't sure what the story of their fantasy was, but it involved an awful lot of running on Amelia and Madeline's part, mostly from a frustrated Arthur, and Francis being not allowed to leave the top of their swing set's slide, as he had apparently been captured. She figured it was good exercise and that was what mattered.

Alice watched over them like a hawk, her eyes sharp behind her glasses and a crease in her brow. Her back was stiff and she'd positioned herself in her chair so that if one of the children needed her, she would easily be able to rush to their side. Every time Amelia or Arthur so much as stumbled, Alice's shoulders would twitch, her hands fisting into the fabric of her slacks. Francine took in all of this with a sigh.

"Mon amie, won't you have some wine?" Francine offered when she didn't get a reply from her previous comment. She had poured a glass for herself, and had another glass ready for her friend.

"I never drink in front of my children," Alice said sharply. She then paused, casting an awkward glance towards her companion, the look in her eyes apologetic. It hadn't been meant as a slight towards the other's parenting.

The Frenchwoman was more than familiar with Alice's barbed tongue and took no offense from the comment. Shrugging, she took a sip from her glass, watching Alice carefully. "I'm worried about you," she said, voice soft so the children wouldn't hear.

Alice, whose gaze had already returned to her Arthur and Amelia, tensed even further than she already was, "I don't know what there is to be concerned about," her tone had a sense of finality to it, she didn't want to have this conversation.

Francine didn't back down, setting her glass onto the table with a frown. "Non, I think there is. I can see you have not been sleeping well," she said, noting the bags under Alice's eyes, "and you have not always been so overprotective with your children." Sure, Alice had always stressed the importance of her children's safety as any good parent would, but it had never been so intense. There was an anxious, paranoid edge to her gaze these days.

She had a feeling she knew why.

Francine observed her friend, who was not so subtly avoiding eye-contact, and drummed her fingers against her thigh. There was something she wanted to say, a conversation that was long overdue. She knew that this was not the best place to have this sort of talk, with their family so close by, but she didn't know when she would get the chance to. In the past months, outside of bringing her children over to play or hosting Francine and her children at her house for the same purpose, Alice had avoided Francine's company. Alice was avoiding the company of most people these days.

Francine decided to push her luck.

"You've been like this ever since Allen-"

"Do _not_-" Alice whispered, voice sharp as a knife as her eyes squeezed shut and her shoulders began to tremble. "Don't you _ever_ speak his name in front of me. Do not," her voice was a terrible hiss, like a threatened serpent that promised pain to that which frightened it. When she finally looked over at the other woman, her eyes were heavy with such pain that Francine could feel her own begin to burn with tears. Alice glared fiercely, defiantly, "he's out of the picture. We're all better for it."

"I know, ma cher," Francine whispered soothingly, reaching over and gently covering Alice's hand with her own. There had been rumors among the neighbors of what had taken place in the Jones household. She herself had heard the late night screaming matches, seen the suspicious bruises, taken in the strained peace whenever the family stepped outside together. When one day, an ambulance was called and the police were involved, after which Allen Jones was not seen again, it wasn't a surprise.

In the months that followed, Francine was able to get a basic understanding of what Alice and her children had gone through, but not much. Alice wouldn't open up to anyone if she could help it. She could understand the sudden overprotective edge Alice had gained around her children, the hard shell she'd constructed around herself, building further upon what had always been a distant personality. But just because the behavior was understandable didn't mean that it was good for her, and that's what worried Francine.

"I just worry that it haunts you," she held onto the other woman's hand, "I understand if you do not wish to talk about it with me, but you must find someone to talk to."

Alice didn't say anything, much of the anger in her expression fading away to reveal the chronic exhaustion underneath. She sagged a little in her seat, the tension leaving her not because she felt any more comfortable, but because in that moment she lost the strength to keep it up. She looked back to her children, Amelia clumsily weaving flowers into Francis's hair much to Arthur's amusement, and the briefest flickers of a smile passed over her features before it faded away. She didn't move her hand from beneath Francine's, but made no move to reciprocate the affection either.

"I'll think about it," she said quietly.

Francine smiled, relieved, but also feeling quite tired herself, "that's all I ask," she assured her, "if you'd like, I could give you the number of an associate of mine, Dr. Sophie Edelstein-"

"I _said_, I'll think about it," Alice cut her off, her tone firm as she gently pulled her hand away.

"...of course," Francine's smile tightened, but she understood she shouldn't have pushed. Getting Alice to consider the idea of seeking help was good enough for now, the rest could come later.

As the time approached for the two of them to begin preparing dinner, Alice gathered her children and wished Francine goodbye. Francine responded with a hug and a kiss on the cheek, to Alice's surprise and embarrassment.

As Francine watched Alice walk back towards her home, back straight and head held high as she held hands with her son and daughter, she hoped for the best for her dear friend.

_**A/N: I see a lot of stories involving depression and PTSD and it always seems too easy. The whole process gets played out like it's an educational video from a health class where everything goes so smoothly and people are talking like they're reading from a textbook and "you should get help" is immediately accepted. I'll tell you from personal experience from both sides of the situation that just getting someone to think about seeking professional help can be hard. The road to recovery at every step can be a long process, but it's worthwhile. My advice to anyone with a loved one going through rough times is that being there for them is the most important thing you can do for them.**_

_**There's a lot I couldn't put into this story because I restricted it to Francine's POV and there were children present. I think the biggest thing I couldn't fit into it because of this setup I chose to go with is the fact that Alice feels immense guilt for "allowing" her husband to hurt her children, and is overcompensating now by being overly watchful and cautious of potential injuries, bordering on being smothering. **_

_**I had trouble on deciding who the ex-husband would be. I don't want to step on pairings if I can avoid it, so I figured using a 2P character, whose personalities are mostly fanon and often are depicted with a more sinister edge, would be okay. I just didn't think I could do a repeat of "We're Your Girls" where I just vaguely reference "the Husband" when his shadow looms over the characters so prominently here.**_

_**Thank you for reading. As always, feedback is much appreciated. I've decided I will now full on be accepting requests for this series if that's something that interests you. Just keep in mind that this story will be staying at a T rating.**_

_**Take Care,**_

_**J**_


	6. Late Night Encounter (FemJapan)

**Who Run The World?**

**Fem!Japan: Late Night Encounter**

As a nation, nearly immortal and stronger than the average human, Japan did not fear traveling alone at night the way a normal person would. This didn't mean she wasn't cautious, alert, but the heavy shadows and empty streets never brought her the same anxiety it did to some of the people she knew.

However, when one night as she traveled from the train station to her home after her boss had kept her late, she found she was being followed, she did find the dark to be much more sinister.

She wasn't sure when exactly they started following her, all she knew was that she had not sensed them when she left the train station. She'd taken the last train of the night, and as sparsely populated as the train and the station had been, she would have noticed someone following her as she left. A couple of blocks from the station was when she first gathered that someone was trailing her.

She didn't hear footsteps, but it was a feeling, a certainty that brought her to her conclusion. It made her tense, and the dark put her at a disadvantage. She was a small, petite woman with a youthful face. It made her an appealing target, especially when she was alone at this hour. She would have to ready herself for the possibility of an encounter.

First, Japan wanted to get a glimpse of her stalker. Thinking quickly, she subtly reached for a cartoon charm attached to her bag, a gift from America, and detached it. It fell to the ground and she stopped a few paces after it, turning around to pick it up. As she turned, she glanced as discreetly as she could back the way she came.

It took all of her self-control not to cry out in alarm.

A large figure stood a ways down the street, standing beneath the light of a streetlight. Japan could tell they were large and probably male, and they did not move, standing with an eerie stillness as Japan picked up her charm. It was not the size or the unsettling pose alone that brought out a reaction in her, however. It was the fact that the light of the street lamp did not touch the figure. No light was touching it at all.

The figure from head to toe was a complete, solid black.

More than just a person in dark clothing, more than the shadows of the night that surrounded them both. The figure was an inky black that seemed to suck in all light around it, so black that it was hard to look at. Yet somehow Japan knew that it was staring at her, even though it had no eyes to see with, she knew that she had met its gaze.

Japan then realized that she herself had frozen in place at the sight of the black figure. She had been staring, crouched on the sidewalk, her hand clutching the dropped charm in a clenched fist.

_I must leave. Now._

She now knew what was following her, and what was following her know knew she was aware of it. Now was the time to go.

As calmly as she could, Japan stood, turned around, and began walking. Her pace was brisk, but not panicked, and she did not dare start to run. She had a feeling that if she ran, the figure would give chase, and she didn't think she would be able to outrun something so tall.

She felt the constant presence at her back, felt the unseeable eyes watching her so intensely. She was starting to become afraid, even though it had yet to establish an intent to harm her, but in a way, not knowing what it wanted was frightening in and of itself.

She turned onto her street and saw her house up ahead, but that brought on a new concern. Would it follow her into her own home? What would she do then? But there was nowhere else for her to go at this point, she would have to take the risk.

Japan made her way to her front door and at the very last second she turned around, eyes searching for the inky figure.

It was gone.

Not wasting time, she unlocked her front door, slipped inside, and locked it back up behind her. She distanced herself from the door then, staring at it as though she expected it to be broken down.

Nothing happened.

Pressing a hand to her racing heart, Japan let out a slow breath, trying to regain her composure. She no longer felt the staring eyes or sensed that she had anyone else with her in the house. She was alone now. She was safe.

The rest of the night passed without incident, as did the days and weeks that followed. After a while, Japan began to wonder if she had imagined the whole incident. The dark of night often changed one's perception of things. Perhaps she didn't get as clear of a look as she thought she had. Maybe it really had been just a regular person in dark clothing, made more sinister in her mind by the late hour. This made much more sense, and was much more appealing, to her than whatever the alternative could be.

By the time the next world meeting came around, she had completely forgotten about that strange night. So when she walked in and made her way over to some of the other Asian nations, she was not expecting their reaction.

"What happened to you?" China asked, coming over and fussing over her in the stern way she had.

She looked blankly at the older nation, tilting her head, "I do not know what you mean."

"There is something dark hanging over you," the older woman said gravely, her hands hovering about Japan's person as though she could feel it. By now a few other nations approached, all wearing frowns similar to China's.

"Did you run into a bad spirit?" Philippines asked, trembling at the idea. Her fear of ghosts was worse than even America's.

Japan hesitated, suddenly thinking of the black figure that had followed her all that time ago. Surely that hadn't been real? That couldn't be what the other nations were picking up on, could it?

Apparently her lack of a reply was taken as a confirmation. She soon found her arms laden with all sorts of protective charms, amulets, and even a rosary as the nations around her began talking about the exorcisms and cleansings that she ought to perform to rid herself of the bad influence.

Feeling overwhelmed by the sudden push against her personal space, Japan escaped to find a seat besides Greece. As she settled down and prepared for the meeting to start, Japan wondered if she she should follow their advice. She remembered the featureless face that stared into her, the inky form that sucked in all light around it.

She didn't want to meet that, whatever it was, again.

_**A/N: I was thinking "maybe I should write some spoopy stories when October comes around" and then my mind was like "why wait for October when you can make with the spoopy right now?" Also, I wanted to write a scary story where the main character wasn't scared out of their mind but still worried about the potential danger, if that makes sense.  
**_

_**Wrote this while listening to Eldritch Horror inspired music and Bloodborne boss music. **_

_**Thank you to those of you who've decided to check out my story. If you have the time, I'd love to have your feedback.**_

_**Take Care,**_

_**J**_


	7. Deep Blue Sea (FemEngland and FemSpain)

**Who Run The World?**

**Fem!England and Fem!Spain: Bottom of the Deep Blue Sea (Pirate AU)**

**Warnings: Violence, Drowning, Intense Terror, Brief Nudity**

There's a superstition that says to have a woman aboard a ship is to bring bad luck upon your ship and crew at sea. Sailors took this very seriously, as they did all their superstitions, and took no chances when they found a woman in disguise among them.

Alice was aware of these superstitions, and was more than aware of the fact that death faced any woman who would dare to push their luck should she be discovered out at sea.

But push her luck she did. She chopped her hair short, bound her breasts, and began going by the name Arthur. She had such a feminine face she was almost surprised that she fooled anyone, but then again, the idea of a woman disguising herself as a man was so preposterous that most people didn't think to question beyond the most basic appearance set before them.

With this new identity, she managed to find a place among the crew of the most feared pirate in all of the seas. It was here that "Arthur" hoped to carve out a life for himself, out at sea.

It was not to be.

Being careful and attentive could only carry her so far in a ship where one had little to no privacy. She was discovered in less than four months. If she had time to reflect on it before the captain and crew turned on her, she would have been surprised it took them that long to figure it out.

Now Alice stood before the rest of the crew, her hands shackled behind her back. She was beaten and bloodied, barely able to stand, the front of her shirt and the wrappings underneath torn away to expose her gender, forever destroying the identity of "Arthur." Despite the wretched state she was in, despite the plank positioned off the side of the ship, Alice kept her back straight, her eyes forever proud and defiant. Fear and despair and humiliation ripping at her insides like a storm, but on the outside, she remained calm.

The captain stepped forward, his eyes burning with fury, and roughly urged her forward. He likely would have kept her on longer, prolonged her suffering for her betrayal, but he wanted her off of his ship as fast as possible to avoid bringing any more bad luck to his ship and his crew.

If she could, she would have pointed out how her presence in the months leading up to that moment had brought no such misfortune that he feared.

Instead, she stepped out onto the plank.

It was a strange thing, to knowingly walk out to one's death. She had no desire to die, in fact, every step out felt as though she had all the weight of the world to pull behind it. But if she turned back, the captain's sword would run her through. Either way, she was dead, and in her final moments, she would rather have the comfort of knowing that she had not died a coward, that she had had some form of control, even if that control was ultimately meaningless.

Her final step off the plank and into empty air was a clumsy one. Her knee buckled, as though her entire being was trying to keep her from moving forward, trying to keep her on the small stretch of wood that represented her last bit of life. But it was too late. She toppled forward, falling through the air and towards the water below. Falling, falling, falling. As gravity dragged her downwards, Alice felt as though everything else was doing its best to catch up. The water came to her slower than she anticipated, and in that time the full reality of what was happening, what was to come, hit her. She held in her scream, not wanting the crew to hear her, wanting to stay strong until the very end.

She hit the water.

Pain, it was so painful. The water's surface was like hitting hard ground, and she felt some of her bones crack upon impact. She squeezed her eyes shut and cried out into the sea, any chance of holding her breath, her naive hope of somehow surviving this, gone. She was dying, she was already dead. She couldn't breathe. It hurt. Dear god, it hurt.

She sank and sank and sank until she didn't know what was up and what was down. It was dark, so dark, and the pain and then-

Hands. Through the pain in her body and lungs, she could feel hands, gently gripping her, pulling her through the water. Helping her.

Alice looked around her, her vision clearing up a little as the light of the surface crept through the darkness more and more. Before her, she saw a woman.

The woman was beautiful, with brown hair, tanned skin, and vivid green eyes. She was gazing Alice kindly, hands gripping her beneath her arms as she kept her from sinking further. Then, more women came into view, all gazing at Alice with curiosity, sympathy, and even understanding in various shades.

Their presence here was impossible, that was all Alice could think. Wondering if they were angels sent to take her to heaven, then wondering with despair if she would even be welcome there.

Then she saw the tails.

She didn't get a chance to process this as the woman holding her suddenly leaned in and kissed her lips, taking her by surprise. Alice's eyes widened, but she was too weak to react any further, her broken body and starved lungs preventing her from doing much of anything. But something incredible happened.

She could breathe.

She could breathe and with her first breath she let out a pained wail as she was still in so much pain and so scared and confused.

"_Don't be scared."_

"_It's okay, my dear."_

"_We're here to help you."_

Different voices, gentle and encouraging, enveloped her. The woman kissed her again and the other women moved forward and pressed kisses to her face, her neck, her shoulders, her hair. Hands petted her arms and her back, stroking down her legs. The touches were not demanding or predatory, but comforting and soothing. To Alice's wonder, she found her injuries healing, her pain melting away, and then something even more miraculous happened.

The oddest tingling sensation was coursing through her legs, causing her to gasp in water, the feeling still something she needed to adjust to. She began to squirm and the brown haired woman hugged her to her bare chest as the others stripped her from the waist down. Then there was growing, stretching, melting, fusing, and- oh.

Alice looked down, her eyes going wide as she gripped the woman comforting her in shock. Where there had once been her legs, there was now a long, deep green tail, like a fish's. In awe, she commanded her lower body to move and watched as the tail followed her every whim. This was her body, this was her now. She would live.

"_How are you feeling, friend?"_

She heard the voice yet didn't hear it at the same time. Her ears still rushed with the sound of the ocean, and yet something compelled her to look to the woman in front of her, her savior.

The woman watched her, smiling patiently. Her companions had gathered behind her, and Alice determined that she was their leader

Alice opened her mouth to speak, but all that came out were unintelligible sounds and bubbles. She closed her mouth, confused.

"_With your mind. Reach out to me."_

The woman's hand cupped Alice's face, looking into her eyes encouragingly.

Alice frowned, staring into the green eyes and concentrating.

"_...I don't...what...happened...to me…"_ Alice searched the woman's eyes, wondering if she was doing it correctly.

The woman beamed, adding a shimmer of youthful energy to her beautiful face, _"good! Very good!"_ She reached down and took Alice's hands in her own. _"My name is Carmen. Long ago, I was the same as you, aboard one of those ships. They discovered your disguise, didn't they?"_

Alice's eyes widened at the revelation that the creature before her was once human, but then she realized that she herself was the same as Carmen now, so it was perhaps not so strange.

"_I was saved,"_ Carmen continued, _"and so I've decided to save others, too."_

"_...thank...you..."_ though it was a struggle to get used to communicating in this way, Alice put as much of her gratitude into the words as possible. She really was indebted to Carmen. She truly would have been dead without her intervention, she still couldn't believe she was alive then.

Carmen merely squeezed her hands in response. She then looked above them, where the hulking shadow of Alice's former ship could still be seen in the distance. _"Tell me, my friend..."_ when she looked back to Alice, her eyes glinted with a dark, mischievous delight, _"would you like to get revenge?"_

Alice's eyes drifted to the ship where her former crew mates had so cruelly sent her to her fate. Her eyes hardened, her new tail swishing through the water like the blade of a cutlass.

"_...yes..."_

_**A/N: There's a legend that says that sirens were women drowned at sea by the hands of men, which is why they spend their new existence luring men to their dooms. **_

_**Wanted to write a pirate thing, and also I love sirens and other female creatures of mythology.**_

_**I was watching a documentary a while back about women who dressed up as men to fight in the American Civil War. The documentary pointed out that a lot of these disguises were super poorly done, yet these women remained undetected until they either revealed themselves or were revealed through medical examinations after an injury (though apparently there was one woman who decided to just deal with a bullet in her leg rather than seek medical treatment so she wouldn't out herself which is metal as all hell considering how painful that would be and she could have died of an infection). The reasoning brought up by historians was that the idea of cross dressing was just so not in the minds of anyone that if someone came up dressed as a man, saying they were a man, it wasn't something you'd think to question.**_

_**Song inspiration for this story was "Bottom of the Deep Blue Sea" by MISSIO and "Siren" by Kailee Morgue.**_

_**Thanks for reading, and if you have the time, it would mean so much to me if you left some feedback. Requests are open (to the person that left me a request, I'm working on it, it's just taking me longer than I thought it would to figure out).**_

_**Take Care,**_

_**J**_


	8. Sweater Weather (FemAmerica w FACE Fam)

**Who Run The World?**

**Fem!America and FACE Family: Sweater Weather**

"Mattieeee..."

Canada looked up from where he'd been conversing with England and France to see his sister bounding over to him. She stopped in front of him, fixing him with a puppy-eyed stare.

Uh-oh. She wanted something.

"Uh, hey Amy," he said, exchanging a look with England and France. "Did you need something?"

She pouted, "I'm cold."

He gave her a flat look, knowing exactly what that meant. "_Really?_"

Her pout became more exaggerated. "Mattie~" she whined, bouncing on her heels as her big blue eyes did their best to melt his heart.

He gave a long suffering sigh and, to their former guardians' confusion, unzipped his hoodie and held it open. He didn't remove it from his body.

"Hee," America beamed and came forward, snuggling into his chest and wrapping her arms around his middle.

Canada zipped up his hoodie with America still inside of it, the fabric stretching a bit, but fortunately he always wore one a little too big for him.

America tucked her head under Canada's chin, gently swaying the two of them back and forth a bit, content to bask in her brother's body heat quietly for a while. She then angled them so that she could look at France and England, who were watching the twins in disbelief. "Hey, guys!" she then turned herself around so that her back was to Canada's front.

England shook his head, looking annoyed and slightly exhausted, "do you honestly have to be so bloody ridiculous all the time?"

"And must you drag Matthieu into it?" France looked more amused than England did, but he did cast a glance at Canada, raising an eyebrow.

Canada merely shrugged, this apparently being a regular occurrence.

America stuck her tongue out at the two older nations, "you're just jealous."

After a moment, Canada pulled the zipper up further so that America was completely covered by it. "Much better," he said with a satisfied grin.

"…meanie."

_**A/N: I was struggling with another chapter I've been working on for this series and took a break to write this little bit of nonsense. I like writing brother and sister stuff where the sister has the brother wrapped around her finger. I've found I especially like thinking of the North America siblings in this way, whether it's Canada or America that's the girl. **_

_**Been exhausted and a bit sick lately. You'll find that this is a regular occurrence with me, unfortunately. **_

_**Take Care,**_

_**J**_


	9. Dinner Party (FemRusAme and FemFrUK)

**Who Run The World?**

**Fem!RusAme and Fem!FrUK: Dinner Party (Request)**

Not too long ago, word got out that Russia and America had started a romantic relationship. To say that France's lover, England, didn't take it well would be a big understatement.

Whether America liked it or not, England had always seen herself as an older sister or mother figure in the younger nation's life. No matter how much America grew and no matter how strong she got, England would forever have the image of the little girl she carried on her hip and sang to sleep etched in her heart and mind.

When news about America and Russia reached England, France equated it to a mother who had just found out her precious daughter was dating the town bad boy, or bad girl in this case. Anger, horror, and a complete rejection of the concept. France had been with England at the time, and had tried to stop her when the shorter woman dug out her phone and called America. She in no uncertain terms demanded America leave Russia. Needless to say America, whose rebellious streak was infamous, did not appreciate being told what to do and was immediately up in arms. The shouting match had been quite impressive, France had had her quarrels with her love in the past, but never had she been able to draw this kind of anger from her. She had never wanted to, to be honest. Well, there were a few times, but as all was fair in love, the true was said for war.

The argument ended with the two women not speaking to each other. Truly, France could sympathize with the both of them. Who America loved wasn't for England to decide. Young though she may be, America was her own nation, her own woman, and England had to respect that. However, when France thought of Canada, her kind, gentle boy, she could understand the protectiveness England felt. It was scary to watch the child you raised out on their own, making their own decisions, and, as a result, their own mistakes. If this was truly a mistake, that is. It had yet to be seen whether Russia truly was a bad, let alone toxic, match for America.

It was a difficult situation, but France had faith that it would work out. America and England cared for each other underneath their disagreements, and this fight, like all the others before it, wouldn't last. England, in her maturity and desire to support America, would accept Russia so long as she treated America right. True love would prevail. It would all be okay in the end.

France's faith was positively shattered when, one night, she found her love in her study wearing a black cloak, chanting from a book over two handmade dolls that looked like Russia and America with suspiciously real looking hair that she had placed in some sort of circle drawn in chalk on the floor.

She should have known better.

Something had to be done. France knew that the one that needed to be brought around in this situation was England. However, France also knew from personal experience that England could be the most stubborn woman on the planet on a good day. This was going to be difficult, very difficult, but that didn't mean it was impossible.

The best angle to go at was England's affection for America. If England could see Russia and America interacting, see how happy she was, then perhaps she would calm down a little about the matter.

An idea came to her while cooking dinner one night. She could host a dinner for just the four of them! Italy liked to say that good food made people happy and brought them together, so maybe that could work in this case. America wasn't one to turn down food, and England, well, France was certain she could get her lover to agree to it. Maybe, just maybe, this could work.

America was a little more difficult to bring around than she initially thought she would be.

"Dinner?" the younger nation asked over the phone. Her voice sounded distant to France, and she could hear a lot of movement and the sound of various tools being used. She figured America had put her on speakerphone while she worked on one of her various projects.

"Oui," France said, lounging on her sofa and sipping wine. "It has been a while since you've had my cooking, non?"

"That's because whenever you offer me something you cook, it's always something weird," a large crash, followed by the sound of metal objects scattering across a hard floor and America's sigh.

"Everything alright, America?" France asked.

"Fine, fine," came America's nonchalant reply.

"Well," continued France, unconcerned, "I'm sure I can come up with something to appeal to your...limited palate."

"And now you're making fun of me," she could hear the pout in the girl's voice. "Look, as long as it isn't something crazy, you know I'm down for some chow-" France wrinkled her nose at having her food referred to in such a basic way, "-but why are you asking me out of the blue like this? Why not Allie? If anyone's in need of having their taste buds revived, it's her."

She couldn't hold back her laugh. Oh, England, her darling truly was a treasure, faults and all. "That actually brings me to the next thing I wanted to discuss," she said, "you see, I was hoping you could bring along Russia, and I will invite Alice. It could be a fun double date, don't you think?"

Silence. Even America's tinkering ceased. Then, she let out a sharp bark of laughter, "Francey, you're nuts. Allie would totally _flip_. You looking to start a war or something?"

"America, I never thought you'd be one to worry so much," she cooed into the phone, still confident. "You must trust that your big sister has a plan."

A snort. "A plan to have your good china wrecked?"

"Would you not prefer that Alice approved of your relationship?" France asked her.

"She can think whatever the hell she wants. It's not my problem."

Oh, how stubborn America could be. It reminded France so much of England at times. She couldn't help but smile a little, "come now, ma cher, you and Alice are always much happier when you get along. This is a chance to soothe worries and heal wounds."

America didn't say anything, and it sounded as though she resumed working. Eventually, she sighed, "look, just tell me the time and I'll make sure Anya's with me, but when shit goes down, don't look at me."

"I'll let you know when I have a date in mind. Merci, America." They said their goodbyes and France hung up, setting her phone to the side. She finished her glass thoughtfully. That hadn't gone as smoothly as anticipated, but no matter. She still secured America's, and by extension Russia's, attendance. Now, for the next challenge.

England.

She brought it up as the two of them were getting ready for bed one night. France was wrapping up her extensive evening skincare routine and England was brushing out her hair.

"I'm thinking of hosting a dinner party soon," she commented casually, pressing moisturizer into the skin of her neck. "Just something small, only a handful in attendance. I would like you to come as well."

France didn't need to look at her to know that England was looking at her skeptically out of the corner of her eye, "it depends on who else will be there."

Her lips twitched in amusement. Ever the guarded answer with this one, "just our dear America...and Russia."

"You must be joking!" England slammed her hairbrush down onto their shared vanity counter, rising from her seat. "Her!?"

Expecting the explosion, France didn't even flinch. She calmly put the lid back on her jar of face cream and looked over at the other woman. England was red in face, her hands on her hips. She didn't look very intimidating in her flannel pajamas. "Mon amour, don't you think you are being unreasonable in all of this?"

"Unreasonable?" England looked as though she couldn't believe her ears, "I'm trying to protect Amelia here!"

"And how do you know if she truly needs protection?" France countered, remaining patient. "You have yet to give Russia a chance in all of this."

"She doesn't need a chance! I know she isn't right for her! Just look at this past century! They hated each other, they could have destroyed each other!" England began to pace. "They were enemies!"

"So were we," said France, causing England's steps to stutter to a stop. She rose from her seat and walked over to her love. "How much of each other's blood have we shed? But look at us now," she carefully took one of England's hands in her own, raising it up to her lips and kissing the inside of her wrist.

England faltered, "that's-it's different. This isn't the same."

"Because it's ta petite fille?" France lowered their hands, but she kept her hold, rubbing England's knuckles with her thumb.

The look England gave, angry and just a little bit scared, was enough of an answer for her.

"Alice, mon amour," she led her away from the vanity and into the bedroom, sitting them down on the bed. She rested a hand on England's cheek, "I understand your fears. If it was Matthieu, I would be the same. There will always be a part of me that will never deem anyone deserving of his love," she smiled fondly, thinking of her darling boy. He was truly special, her precious treasure. She hoped that when he found someone, they would understand just how precious he was and make him happy. That's all a mother wanted. "But when he finds someone to share his heart with, I want to support him, to celebrate with him in his happiness, or support him in his heartbreak. The way you are now, it's driving you and America apart! How long has it been since you last spoke to her? When you used to speak every couple of days?"

"...she refuses to listen," England muttered quietly, though France could tell she was getting through to her.

"She is stubborn, just as you are," France kissed her nose, "but I think in this case, you are being the most stubborn." She pressed their foreheads together, "all I ask is that you have dinner with them, see with your own eyes before casting judgment. More importantly, be there for America."

England remained quiet for a while, deep in thought. Finally, she sighed, "very well, then," she gave France a stern look, "but if I don't like what I see, the Russian will pay."

"Hopefully it doesn't come to that," France smiled sweetly, giving England a kiss. She did her best not to show how pleased she was. It wouldn't do to have England back out just to spite her.

France got on making the arrangements right away. She was dead set on making this dinner go as smoothly as possible from her end.

It wasn't long before the evening of the dinner arrived. America showed up with Russia on time as she said she would.

France greeted America at the door with a kiss on each cheek.

"Eck- France! I'm a taken woman, you know!" America jerked back from France's touch, ever uncomfortable about such greetings. An adorably flustered blush bloomed across her cheeks, it was times like these that France remembered America and Canada were indeed twins.

"Worry not, America," France pinched the girl's cheek fondly, "I have no desires to steal you away."

"Good, because I have no intentions of letting that happen," Russia's voice was syrupy sweet as she came forward to greet France, her smile as unreadable as ever.

"Ah, bonjour, Russia," France greeted, slightly nervous. While truly she was happy for and in support of America's new relationship, Russia still unnerved her greatly.

"France," the statuesque woman leaned down closer to France, gripping her by the shoulders, and gave her a kiss on each cheek.

France stiffly followed through with the greeting, letting out a jittery laugh as she was released.

Russia giggled, an unusually high pitched sound, her hand lifted up to her mouth as she did so. "Thank you very much for this dinner invitation. It is a wonderful thing to eat with friends and loved ones, da?"

"Of course," France smiled gracefully, already falling back into hostess mode. "I'm so glad you could make it."

"Oh! Gifts!" America nudged Russia and then began to rummage through her bag, "we brought you gifts since you're our host and stuff."

The bottle of vodka with a pretty pink bow wrapped around its neck from Russia didn't surprise France in the slightest. The small potted cactus America had produced unharmed from her purse was a bit more surprising, and France was thankful it wasn't anything strange like the light saber she'd presented England at one of her afternoon teas.

America in particular looked very proud of herself while presenting her gift, "it's cute, badass, and you can eat it if there's a drought."

"Merci, these are lovely gifts," France took the gifts into her arms, taking special care while handling the cactus in particular. Just as she was about to invite them further into her home, the sound of a cleared throat attracted all three nations' attention.

England stood a few feet away, watching America with crossed arms and her mouth set in a thin line. "Hello, Amelia."

America's normal exuberance became more subdued, and she gave England a tight smile, "hey, Allie."

England sniffed, eyeing America's attire, "I see you still don't know how to dress appropriately for social gatherings."

America huffed, one of her hands touching the fabric of her sleek, navy blue jumpsuit almost self consciously, "it's the 21st century, Allie," she said with a roll her eyes. Most of the older female nations still wore skirts when required to dress up for an occasion, including England, but America had abandoned them as soon as her people's trends allowed it. This was a discussion they had quite often. "Pants are totally okay for us girls."

"I think it suits her quite well," Russia put her arms around America, pressing a kiss into her hair.

"Aww, thanks, babe," America beamed, reaching back and patting the side of Russia's head.

France watched England's face turn an interesting shade of red and open her mouth to shout something. The older nation put a stop to that with a swift kick to England's shin. As England was distracted, France clapped her hands together, putting a smile on her face. "Well, why don't you come in and make yourselves at home? I was just putting the finishing touches on tonight's dinner. Mon amour, would you care to set the table for me?"

She put her gifts away and led the two visiting nations into a sitting room, making sure they were comfortable. She then headed to the dining room where England was grumpily setting the table and gave a lock of the shorter nation's hair a displeased tug.

"Oi!" England snapped, pressing her hand to her scalp and giving France a sharp glare, "what was that for!?"

"I would like to remind you-" France hissed quietly so that her guests in the other room wouldn't hear, "-that you agreed to be civil and give America and Russia's relationship a chance! Which means no picking fights!"

"I was _not_ picking a fight!"

"You were about to! I could see it in your eyes!"

The two of them glared at each other in silence. Finally, England took a deep breath, adjusting her glasses. "Fine, very well. I'll be more civil."

France smiled, "wonderful," she leaned down, kissing England's forehead, nose, and then lips.

England pulled back, flustered, "enough of that. Don't you have food to attend to?"

The older woman smirked, "of course. Later, then?"

England pointedly returned to setting the table, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. Though quiet, France heard her response.

"Later."

Soon, all four nations were seated at France's dinner table. The atmosphere was tense as England stared disapprovingly at Russia and America frowned defensively at her for it, as if daring her to say something. France put on a smile, doing her best to create a lighter mood.

"Would you like some wine?" France offered her guests.

"I'm good," America said with a small shake of her head.

"No, thank you," Russia smiled, producing a half-full bottle of vodka from seemingly nowhere, "I've brought something of my own."

America looked at her girlfriend, looking as though she were trying to tame down a smile. England, however, only narrowed her eyes further at the larger nation.

"I'll have some," England told France, presenting her glass.

Oh, dear. France frowned at England, having a bad feeling about it, but she poured for her regardless.

America's thoughts seemed to be along the same line as France, as she was looking at England with a slight frown. However, perhaps due to the current strain between the two of them, she didn't say anything either.

As they began to eat, France decided to take some initiative. If she didn't, she feared that the dinner would pass in complete silence. "So," she looked to America and Russia, "I have to say, I was quite surprised when I heard about your relationship. How did this all happen?"

She saw England take a long sip of her wine out of the corner of her eye.

America shot Russia a giddy sort of smile with a shrug while the taller nation gave her a small smile in return. America was the picture of a teenager in love, which she was in a way, and as for Russia, there was a genuine warmth in those normally cold eyes of hers. France pressed a hand over her heart, biting her lip, ever more eager to hear how the two of them came together.

"Aliens."

France blinked. "...pardon?"

"Ama came to me one day to ask about alien encounter experiences of my astronauts," Russia explained.

"I wanted to compare notes, and talk about intergalactic relations and possible defenses and stuff," added America, "Mattie and I already talk about our contingencies for zombie plague scenarios on the reg and Anya and I are all about that space life, you know?"

"It was fun," Russia's eyes closed in delight as she clasped her hands together, "I was happy to be getting along with someone about something that interests me. Then I brought up that I was fond of that show of hers, the Star Trek-"

"-which is like, hell yeah, man-"

"-which brought on a discussion of our space themed movies and shows. Ama was kind enough to invite me over for a viewing marathon, and I brought along some of my own personal recommendations-"

"-it was really cool, and then it became like a thing for us. Then somewhere in there dating happened. We just really gelled and stuff," America finished with a shrug and a casual grin.

"I see..." France tilted her head, taking in America and Russia's happy expressions. It wasn't the sweeping romance she had hoped to hear, but it still touched her romantic heart to see two different personalities brought together by an unexpected common interest, so it would do. She subtly glanced over at England, the woman wasn't speaking, but that was alright she supposed. She had asked her to observe after all. She would have to take it upon herself to steer the conversation, and she did, trying to gently pry details about the state of their relationship out for England to see.

As three of the four occupants at the table continued to talk throughout dinner, France came to a simple conclusion.

America and Russia…

They were both weirdos.

Complete and utter weirdos.

She had decades upon decades of dealing with America chattering on about the strangest things, but to now have someone who encouraged it all at her side… Though truthfully, Russia disagreed with her about as much as she agreed with her. They had a healthy banter going on between them, and Russia's personality was just as strange in its own right as America's. France was struggling to keep up with them, wishing that she wasn't the only one engaging them.

"Ridiculous."

Everyone paused, looking over to England who just spoke for the first time in a while.

It was then that France noticed that England's dinner was mostly untouched and that the bottle of wine she'd brought to the table was noticeably more empty than it had been earlier.

Uh-oh.

England swayed slightly in her seat, one elbow resting on the table while her other hand held her wine glass unsteadily. She was glaring at America and Russia.

America frowned, looking, for once, slightly cautious, "Allie-"

"You're both utterly ridiculous..." England growled, gesturing with her glass as its contents sloshed around dangerously. "Just look at you… all bloody happy… it's bollocks! You think this is enough!? Bonding over aliens of all things… how long do you think this will last, hm? Grow up!"

_Uh-oh._

France winced, "mon amour, perhaps that is enough-" she began to try and extract the glass from her lover's grasp, but it was proving to be rather difficult as England moved it out of her reach and pushed her back. A big splash of wine hit the table and France mourned her lovely tablecloth.

Meanwhile, America and Russia were looking less than happy.

Russia had a dangerous grin on her face and looked as though she were about to say something, but America beat her to it.

"Why do you have to be like this?" America demanded, her hand reaching over for Russia beside her and gripping the older woman's hand beneath the table. Russia closed her mouth, seeming to know this was America's battle, but she continued to smile menacingly. "You can never just be happy for me about anything!"

"Why should I be?" England threw back, "going around with this… this menace! Watching you involve yourself with the wrong sort. You think you know what you're getting into, but you know nothing!"

France frowned, everything was going downhill and fast. "I think we should all take a deep breath and calm down-"

"You don't know anything, either!" America shouted. She pounded her fist down on the table and the piece of furniture gave a dangerous creak, the sound of cracking wood making France wince. It was an antique. "Stop treating me like I'm a little kid!"

"I'm just trying to look after you-"

"I didn't ask you to look after me!"

England gave a sarcastic laugh that sounded more like a snarl, "you know that's not how it works, Amelia. I care whether you want me to or not, it doesn't matter how bloody old you are or how little it's appreciated!" She suddenly quieted, looking more subdued and her eyes glimmered wetly, "you're my little sister, I can't help it..."

Everything went quiet after that, the mood of the room falling from its heated, volatile state to something more somber. Even Russia's expression became more contemplative.

"Oh, Alice..." France breathed, her hand pressing over her mouth.

America stood, walking over to England's side and throwing her arms around the older woman's shoulders. England stiffened, but eventually brought her hand up to rest awkwardly on America's arm.

"Damn it, Allie, you're gonna make me cry," America murmured softly, blinking rapidly as she pulled herself back to look into her former guardian's eyes. "I appreciate it, okay? And I know you're worried but… you gotta stand next to me, not in front of me, you know?" she gave her a tentative smile, "you can't worry so much about what might happen, you gotta see what's happening now. And..." she ducked her head down, a sheepish blush on her cheeks, "and I'm really happy right now, okay? So… please Allie. Just, trust me on this."

England stared up at her, biting her lip. "...okay," she sniffed, nodding and blinking back her tears, "alright." It finally seemed as though she'd backed down.

America hugged her again, "thanks, Allie."

France sniffled, dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief. Thank goodness her makeup was waterproof. "So touching..."

When America sat back down, Russia reached out and pulled America closer to her, kissing the side of her head and whispering something into her ear that caused America to beam at her and kiss her chin.

England slumped somewhat in her seat, but her expression held no more of the burning anger from before. France took her hand beneath the table, giving it a supportive squeeze. She saw England's lips twitch into a small grateful smile as she squeezed back and then let go.

France stood then, smoothing down her skirt. "So, would anyone like dessert?"

"Oh, me!" America immediately perked up, looking as if dessert was the only thing that mattered to her at the moment.

The rest of the night was a much less tense affair. By the time America and Russia were ready to go, France had to say she felt pretty accomplished. No war had started, and while England and Russia would likely not become friends any time soon, England and America seemed to be on good terms again and England had promised not to interfere too much in the future. Yes, things certainly could have gone much worse.

France and England saw their guests off at the front door. America gave England and France hugs, avoiding France's kisses completely this time, and with a final wave, stepped out into the night. Russia, however, lingered behind.

"England," Russia's face was absent of her usual smile nor did it contain any intimidating intent. Her features were softened, and there was sincerity in her eyes. "I really do care for her. I want to do right by her, you have my word."

England's eyes widened with surprise. She looked to struggle for words, finally settling for a stiff nod.

Russia nodded in return, then she thanked France for her hospitality and stepped outside where her love waited for her.

France closed and locked her front door. She and England stood in silence for a moment before simultaneously sagging with exhaustion.

"Bloody hell, I need another drink," said England, rubbing her eyes.

"I think I shall join you," said France, putting an arm around England's waist as she led her away from the front entrance. "Just make sure you don't drink so much that you forget about all that happened tonight, mon amour. I have no intentions of going through this again."

She paused for a moment, then added-

"You owe me a new tablecloth."

_**A/N: This chapter was a request from a guest reviewer called "A Fan" who requested Nyo!RusAme and Nyo!FrUK where the two were on a double date. I think this still counts hopefully? I'm sorry it took so long to get to this and I hope you like it. **_

_**I struggled a bit with this one, but I had fun writing for Fem!France. She strikes me as this luxurious HBIC type with nice things and nice makeup and nails.**_

_**Some small notes about this chapter:**_

_**-My vision for Fem!England is that of a strict mother where you can't seem to do anything right in her eyes. It's not exactly a… likable image, I'm afraid, but I honestly still like her very much and tried to portray how she has trouble expressing herself and it's the only way she knows how to convey her care for others. **_

_**-Canada is male in this chapter. I like the idea of him being the only man in the FACE family and I see the women doting on him in their own slightly overwhelming ways.**_

_**-Before Korean skincare began trending here in the states, French women were the first and last word on skincare. You can't tell me France doesn't take like an hour on her face every morning and night when she can.**_

_**-I didn't specify any of the food or wine in this chapter because I'm so dumb about food honestly. There's no way I could have made it sound like I knew what I was talking about.**_

_**-Sometimes I think about that time Canadian Parliament debated about the zombie apocalypse.**_

_**I feel like I didn't put enough RusAme in this chapter, it's very hard to juggle four characters in one scene. I'm sorry.**_

_**I hope you all liked this chapter. If you have the time, I'd love to hear your feedback.**_

_**Take Care,**_

_**J**_


	10. Winging It (FemMolossia)

**Who Run The World?**

**Fem!Molossia and America: Winging It**

Molossia let out a small huff of frustration, throwing yet another used makeup wipe into her trash bin. She pouted at her reflection in the mirror, thinking she looked a rather sorry sight with the remnants of eyeliner smudged around her eyes, the skin beneath starting to look irritated from being cleaned after all of her failed attempts.

The micronation had recently started to play around with makeup. She loved all the different colors and the way it could totally change the look of her face. It made her feel like an artist when she could pull it off correctly, and so far, the simple things she tried had turned out really well. However, there was one thing that she'd been struggling with since she began her experimentation.

The winged eyeliner look.

She really wanted to master it. She thought that it would go really well with the tough girl style she went for around others, with her wild hair and her jacket hanging about her shoulders, and- what was that phrase again? "Winged eyeliner sharp enough to cut a man." That sounded so badass! She wanted to project that level of fierceness.

But it wasn't going so well for her. No matter how hard she tried, it never turned out quite right. Either the wings were uneven, or wobbly, or she smudged her eyeliner into the crease of her eyelid, or something else went wrong. It was driving her nuts!

She sighed, staring at the eyeliner marker she held in her hand. Well, the only way she'd ever figure it out was through practice. So, looking back into the mirror, she brought the marker up to her eyelid and began to try again.

"Hey, Molossia-"

"Eeek!"

"Gah!"

"M-Mr. America!?" Molossia cried, looking at the nation standing in the doorway of her bedroom. "Wh-what are you doing in my room?" she'd nearly had a heart attack!

America, who had been just as startled as her because of her scream, was smiling at her sheepishly. "I thought you heard me calling for you, plus your door was open, so-" he paused, tilting his head as he looked at her. "You got a little..." he gestured to the side of his face with a finger.

Molossia blinked, touching the side of her own face as she looked into the mirror. Her eyes widened when she saw the wild streak of black along her eyelid and down the side of her face. It must have happened when America scared her. "Oh my gosh..." she ducked her head down, her face on fire. That was so embarrassing. She hastily grabbed a makeup wipe and began to clean her face.

"I didn't know you wore makeup," said America, walking into the room and sitting on her bed. She could see his interested expression in the mirror.

"Oh, well, it's sort of a new thing..." she muttered shyly, shrugging her shoulders. She put the cap back on the eyeliner marker, fiddling with it as she turned to face him, "I haven't been having much luck with it lately."

"Yeah? What have you been trying to do?"

She hesitated. America had that glint in his eye, the look he got when he thought that he would get a chance to be someone's hero. She really didn't know if he could help her with this, and was honestly a little scared of what the end result would be should he try. But she had never been good at turning America down for anything, so she answered, "winged eyeliner," as she held up her marker for emphasis. She didn't really expect him to know anything about it.

America beamed, "oh! Yeah, that's tricky, but your hero's got you covered, no problem!"

Molossia didn't have time to react before America had taken her marker and was doing her eyeliner. She closed her eyes, feeling awkward and nervous from having him touch her face, especially when he had a pointed object so close to her eyes, but she was surprised at his careful touch. America wasn't normally one to do things delicately, but she wasn't about to complain.

"Aaaand done!"

Molossia's eyes fluttered open, and with trepidation, she took a look in the mirror.

Her mouth opened in shock.

America had drawn perfect, neat wings of eyeliner on both of her eyelids. It hadn't even taken him that long. She turned her head from side to side, admiring the work he'd done in amazement. She turned to look at him. "Wow, Mr. America, it looks so good! How'd you learn to do that?"

America seemed to puff up proudly at her praise, his grin splitting his face, "heroes have many skills at their disposal, you know!" he told her, then added, "it's something I've picked up while doing drag over the years."

"Drag? You?" of any potential answers, the idea that America had done drag hadn't been one she would have considered.

He looked at her, eyebrow raised, "that isn't a problem, is it?" there was a hint of worry to his tone.

"Oh, no! No, i-it's no problem!" she bit her lip, blushing apologetically as she realized how rude she sounded. "I was just surprised, is all," America had always come across as someone who had a rather… _fragile_ masculinity, though she wasn't about to say that out loud. It was nice to know that he was comfortable with himself enough to do something as bold as drag.

"Yeah, I'm totally full of surprises!" America laughed boisterously, her response having appeased him. "I've been known to perform as Starla Spangled every now again, you should totally come to one of my shows sometime!"

Molossia smiled at the name, it really was something America would go for. "That sounds fun, Mr. America," she said with a little nod, happy to be invited and very intrigued. She looked back at the mirror, admiring the wings again, "um, do you think you could teach me how to do this?" she asked him hopefully, pointing to her eyes.

America smiled enthusiastically, "sure thing, kiddo! Leave it to me!"

By the end of the day, Molossia was well on her way to a perfect winged eyeliner.

_**A/N: I've been recently watching a lot of drag queen makeup tutorials and this came to mind. I just need big and bold drag queen America in my life. America tends to be portrayed as the typical insecure frat douche in fics, totally averse to any perceived femininity, and that really bothers me. I guess this is a bit of me pushing back against that, people can be full of surprises after all.**_

_**Winged eyeliner looks great but it's such a pain to do, especially for me since I have a medical condition that makes my hands really unsteady.**_

_**Thank you to all who've been reading, if you have the time, I'd love to have your feedback. I'm still taking requests.**_

_**Take Care,**_

_**J**_


	11. Big Sister (Ukraine and Belarus)

**Who Run The World?**

**Belarus and Ukraine: Big Sister**

Ukraine was startled out of a peaceful sleep by a pounding on her front door. Slowly, she got out of bed, covering a massive yawn with a small, work-worn hand. She glanced at the clock, noting nervously that it was two in the morning. Nothing good could come from a visit at such an hour, and the demanding force of the knocking, which she could hear all the way on the second floor of her home, only added further emphasis to that notion.

Still, it was not in Ukraine's nature to leave a person waiting out in the dark. So she pulled on a night robe and made her way down to the front door, turning on a few lights along the way.

"Who is it?" she called softly but clearly through the door, wanting to know who it was before she opened it. A woman living alone, nation or not, couldn't be too careful. She pressed a hand to the wood as she waited for the response.

"Big Sister," came the reply, the voice instantly recognizable to Ukraine, but with an alien tremor to it.

It was Belarus.

Within seconds, Ukraine had the door unlocked and opened, revealing her younger sister standing on the other side.

Belarus stood with her shoulders hunched and shaking, hands clenched into fists at her sides. She wore a terrible expression on her face, twisted with bitterness and pain, and her cold, cold eyes leaked tears in a steady stream.

"Oh, Natalia," Ukraine didn't need prompting or invitation. She pulled the younger woman through the threshold and into her arms, one arm holding her close as her opposite hand petted her hair comfortingly. Belarus allowed the contact and closeness, though the only movement she made was to press her face into Ukraine's bosom as she continued to cry.

"It's not fair," Belarus whispered harshly, and Ukraine didn't need to ask, for she knew what Belarus was talking about.

Their brother, Russia.

This situation was one that was familiar to Ukraine. Though it did not happen very often, as Belarus was a stoic girl who would rather pretend her pain wasn't there than admit to its existence, it happened often enough that Ukraine knew that there was only one subject that could consistently bring her sister to such a state and that Ukraine was the only one she trusted to see her like this.

Even when they were young, when both of her younger siblings had to look up to meet her eyes, Belarus would cling to Russia, always wanting his attention, his love. Wanting more and more and more of it. Back then even Ukraine's attention towards their brother could make Belarus jealous. In that way, Belarus did calm down, in others, she did not. When Belarus was old enough to understand romantic love and marriage, everything changed. Then, it was not enough to simply be around Russia, then only marriage could satisfy the youngest of the trio of siblings.

Ukraine didn't think to try and put a stop to Belarus's behavior. She thought it was just the fantasies of a little girl, a phase she would grow out of like other fleeting fancies of youth. Oh, how she was wrong. By the time she realized that it had become something twisted and long-lasting, it was already too late.

She knew their brother hated such attentions from Belarus, knew that he had come to fear her for the intensity of her love and the aggression of her pursuit in it. He was a man to be reckoned with, a nation that not many could match in terms of strength and ferocity, but he was also an intensely lonely man at his core, and Belarus was his family. Despite her desire to be his wife, Russia could only and would always see her as his beloved little sister. It was because of his attachment to her that he feared her. If she were anyone else, he would have no trouble in scaring her off, using whatever means and however much force as was necessary, but because she was family, and because she loved him, he couldn't harm her. It was this inability to deflect that which pursued him using the methods he was familiar with that caused him to fear her. She'd become an "enemy" he couldn't defeat.

Ukraine wished it were different. She wanted nothing more than for her siblings to be happy, for them to be able to be with each other and coexist in peace, but it always seemed like something was getting in the way of that. As nations, they could not always act on their wishes as individuals and had to do what was in the interest of their people and government. Then, even as individuals, it seemed like they would want things the other was unable, unwilling, to give.

And it hurt. It hurt Ukraine to be apart from her siblings and to watch them be unable to get along. It hurt Russia to be isolated from his family, be it by the will of another or himself. It hurt Belarus who would always want something she could not have.

Because Belarus did get hurt, even though Russia desperately didn't want to hurt her. He brought her some of the worst pain a heart could feel, and it was that pain that brought her to Ukraine's house in the early hours of the morning.

Ukraine brought her further into the house, made her some tea, wrapped her in a blanket, and sat with her, stroking her hair as she wept. Belarus said nothing more for a long time, her face remained set in a harsh grimace, the girl all hard edges even at her most vulnerable. The older woman comforted her as she would a child, humming old songs into her ear and rocking her gently. She'd long since stopped whispering assurances to her, as they always felt empty and would only serve to upset Belarus further or worse, encourage her.

Ukraine didn't support her sister's feelings for their brother, but she couldn't shut her out when she was in pain, either. She felt so lost as to how to help her. Again, she wished for some solution, some way for them all to be happy. For them all to be together, for Russia to no longer be lonely, for Belarus to find a love that loved just as deeply in return.

For now, all she could do was sit in the dark with her sister and wipe away her tears.

_**A/N: I actually wrote this a few weeks ago, but wanted to let it sit for a while because I wasn't happy with it at the time. I really like Belarus as a character, which is strange because she's normally not the character type I go for. I'm hoping to explore her more in future stories. **_

_**I'm working on a Halloween story that I'll hopefully have finished in time for it to still be seasonally appropriate when I finally share it on this site. It's not going to be a part of this series, though, it'll be a standalone.**_

_**It's been a rough start to the month for me, exhaustion's hit me hard, which is why you're getting a backlogged story this time around. Hopefully it clears up a bit for me soon.**_

_**Special thank you to SecretDivin for their continued support.**_

_**Take Care, **_

_**J**_


	12. Priorities (FemGermanyxItaly)

**Who Run The World?**

**Fem!GermanyxItaly: Priorities**

"Tell me, bella. Are all German girls as pretty as you?"

Germany didn't appreciate Italy's question at the time, had shouted at him to take things more seriously, but he had been serious. Italy had truly been captivated by Germany at the time, he still was.

Germany was a tall woman, with a strong, muscular body gained from a lifetime dedicated to training. She had a stern face that rarely smiled, and her icy blue eyes could cut right into your soul. Her hair was chopped short to stay out of the way and her fashion sense favored practicality over everything else.

She was gorgeous, truly one-of-a-kind. Italy had never seen a beauty like hers.

It wasn't just her beauty that enchanted Italy, but her personality, her soul. Germany worked hard for everything she had, put her all into every task she was given. She cared, and cared deeply. Beyond her stern stare and discipline, she looked out for the people that were close to her. She might not be the best at putting her feelings into words, but her actions spoke volumes when you took the time to understand.

But not many people bothered to understand Germany, and even less seemed to appreciate her. Italy wasn't completely oblivious, no matter how he came across to others. He saw the looks people shot Germany, heard the whispers of "tyrant", "ogre", "dyke", "bitch" and all manner of terrible, unfair, and untrue insults against her looks and her personality.

It made him angry, so angry. It made Italy wish he were a stronger, braver man, one that could stand up for Germany. She didn't deserve that kind of judgment from others, she deserved to be treated as the wonderful woman she truly was.

"You worry too much," she said to him one day when he brought it up while they were at her home. She reached out and settled her hand awkwardly on his shoulder as she knew that he valued physical comfort. It was gestures like these that proved just how wrong people were about her.

"But doesn't it hurt you?" he asked her, his shoulders and even his stray curl drooping, "the things they say-"

"Are just words, Feliciano. Ones they can't even bother to say to my face," she told him with a shake of her head. The blonde woman regarded him for a moment, her lips pursed. He recognized the look as one that crossed her face when she was trying to put her thoughts and feelings into words. Finally, she said, "if I found anything valid in their criticisms, then I would do my best to correct myself. However, I haven't found anything they say worth any further thought. I take pride in the way I carry myself and see no reason why I should change it just to appease these people when there are much more productive ways I could focus my energy. Does this make sense?"

Italy couldn't help but smile at the very… _Germany_ way she'd phrased her thoughts. It truly didn't seem like it bothered her, if anything, she found it a waste of time to think about. She was so comfortable with herself and he couldn't help but be moved by her strength. To be able to stand tall, unmoved by the whispers of others, was something even the best people struggled with, and yet Germany…

He took Germany's face in his hands and pressed a kiss to her lips, "sei bellissima. Meravigliosa. Ti amo..."

He continued to shower her with praise and kisses until she pulled away, completely red and an adorably flustered expression on her face. One of her hands pressed to her cheek as she tried to compose herself, "e-enough of that!"

Italy giggled at how overwhelmed she looked and wrapped his arms around her middle, resting his head against her shoulder, "ve, sorry, Monika~" he cooed, though they both knew he didn't mean it.

He heard her sigh, and then a soft kiss was pressed to his cheek. "Danke… for worrying about me," she said quietly, her arms wrapping around him as she gradually relaxed into the embrace. "...ich liebe Dich auch," she added a moment later, her voice a precious whisper.

He closed his eyes, holding on tighter as he basked in this moment of tenderness with the woman he loved. Germany was an amazing, one-of-a-kind woman, and if the rest of world refused to see it, then their loss would be his gain.

_**A/N: I think it's common for women who are stern and assertive to be saddled with terrible labels that their male counterparts don't have to deal with, this is doubly so if they don't conform to the typical feminine aesthetic. Also, there's this stereotype of German women that's very unflatteringly masculine and brutish (likely something that endured from wartime propaganda). That's where this idea came from. I could see fem!Germany dealing with a lot of bullshit, honestly.**_

_**Thank you to everyone reading. If you have the time, I'd really appreciate your feedback. Requests are still open.**_

_**Shout out to decoris for the thoughtful review that also relates to the themes of this chapter.**_

_**Take Care,**_

_**J**_


	13. Sway (FemFrancexFemSpain)

**Who Run The World?**

**Fem!FrancexFem!Spain: Sway (Request)**

The air smelled of sweat and perfume. The music pounded through France's body like a second heartbeat. The lights of the nightclub, neon blues and pinks and purples, bombarded her vision until she could no longer remember what colors in the real world looked like.

They had lost Prussia early on, the boisterous nation disappearing into the sea of moving bodies, half-finished beer in hand and some hot young thing trotting at her heels like a lost puppy. They'd have to remember to collect her at some point, if she didn't draw their attention by causing some sort of commotion before then.

France sat with Spain, basking in the stares she garnered from both men and women in her short, off-the-shoulder romper that showed off her glowing skin and long legs. She exuded an unapproachable air for the moment, uninterested in the invitations of others. The only company she was interested in was that of her friend.

Spain looked stunning as always, wearing a flowing red top and tight black pants, her hair let down out of its normal updo and cascading like water about her shoulders and down her back. She was recounting a story from times long past, and in order to hear each other, the two women had to lean in close, so close together. France found her eyes drawn to Spain's lips, painted a lovely bright red. She always did look amazing in red, the country of passion draped in the color that suited the word best.

Suddenly Spain was on her feet, grinning that happy smile of hers that all the centuries and struggles did nothing to dim, her tanned hands reaching out for France. "We should dance!"

France regarded Spain and the pulsing crowd beyond them, taking a sip of her drink. Inspired by the colorful atmosphere, she'd forgone her normal drink of choice and had ordered something fruity and unnaturally colored, something she often saw young America ordering. It was like drinking candy, which right now didn't bother France in the slightest. It was sweet and fun, the mood of the evening. Looking up at Spain, the image of her bathed in pink light and holding her hands out to her invitingly. Sweet and fun described her, too.

France took her hand and stood, "let's go."

Holding hands, the two nations moved through the crowd, giggling as they were jostled about, jokingly crying out when the pulse of the crowd threatened to separate them. They never lost each other, though, eventually finding space enough to move and surrendering to the beat of the music.

They smiled at each other, staying close together as they danced, touching hands, brushing arms, avoiding toes.

France looked around, seeing all of the young faces, young even by human standards, and found that she didn't stand out among them. Not in looks, not in feelings. Regardless of where they'd come from, how long it'd taken them to get there, they all ended up there that night, wanting to have fun and maybe have a dance with another.

Spain's arms went around France's shoulders, drawing her attention back to her partner. Her own hands went to Spain's waist and their fronts pressed together.

"What's on your mind, amiga?" even with the lighting, France could see the green of Spain's eyes glitter like jewels in their close proximity. With each sway of their bodies their noses bumped together, and Spain's wavy brown locks brushed softly against France's bare shoulders.

France smiled, "I was thinking of how much fun I'm having here," it was such a simple thought to have, yet it made her feel so buoyant. She chuckled, "it makes me forget how old I am."

Spain laughed joyfully, the sensation rumbling pleasantly into France's body. "You're not so old. What's that saying? You're only as old as you feel!"

"Then I don't feel a day over 150!"

Their laughter rang out like bells.

France leaned her forehead against Spain's, her eyes shining bright, "dancing sure has changed, hasn't it?" With absolutely no space between them, she could smell the citrus notes of the other woman's perfume and could feel her breath on her lips. It was intoxicating.

"Sí, but I like it, you know?" Spain pulled her arms back, letting her hands drift along France's shoulders and down her arms, "it's easier to get close now." The warmth normally found in the Spaniard's gaze was even more intense as she looked into France's eyes.

France bit her lip, shivering slightly at the light touch and the heat in Spain's gaze. "I never found it all that difficult for the two of us to get close," she said with a slight smirk.

The other woman giggled, "perhaps you're right."

Spain took her hands and France found herself being turned around, Spain pressing herself against her back and gripping her hips. She let her pale hands rest on top of Spain's and leaned back into her embrace, their bodies moving together. She smiled as she felt Spain kiss her neck.

France turned her head, angling back and capturing Spain's lips in a soft kiss.

"You taste like candy," Spain told her when they pulled apart, and then she went in for another kiss.

They danced together well into the night, until their feet were sore and their brows dripped with sweat. Prussia eventually stumbled into them, much more drunk than when they'd last seen her, and they decided it was time that their night came to an end.

France walked out of the club with her two friends, taking a deep breath of the crisp, cool night air as her eyes welcomed the less intense lighting of the streetlights outside. She walked down the sidewalk, keeping a hold on Prussia from one side as Spain supported her from the other. She and Spain locked eyes over Prussia's head and shared a smile.

Tonight had been a lot of fun.

_**A/N: This was a request from SecretDivin, a lovely person who has been very supportive and encouraging to me. Their request was either Fem!Frain or Fem!PruFra, and I went with Fem!Frain. I hope you like it, and thank you again for all your kind messages :)**_

_**The title of this chapter is from the Michael Bublé song but the story was actually written with the song "Stop" by Justice in mind, it's just that none of the lyrics would have really made for a good title. I basically listened to it on loop when I was writing this.**_

_**I was going for a sensual, happy, and fun vibe with this, and maybe a bit nostalgic. I see a lot of stories where the nations struggle with newer trends and the younger generation and have a lot of angst regarding their immortality, but I didn't want to go in that direction. I wanted to portray the joy of having fun with someone you care about without baggage and without regrets.**_

_**I really like writing Fem!France, at least my take on her. I get in this weirdly romantic mood with her and it takes my writing in a direction I don't go in often.**_

_**I feel good about this chapter, I think I got across what I wanted to and it was refreshing after the intensity of the World of Horror oneshot I just wrote. Next, I'm going to put my energies towards updating Meeting of Madness, and then we'll see from there.**_

_**Thank you for reading, if you have the time, I would greatly appreciate your feedback. Requests are still open.**_

_**Take Care,**_

_**J**_


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